


Good Humor

by sarahbeniel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Everyone Lives at The Tower, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Marvel Summer Fun and Fluff Fest, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Oral sex technique displayed while eating ice cream, Swearing, That trope where someone is caught masturbating, WinterShock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 11:58:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18992212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahbeniel/pseuds/sarahbeniel
Summary: Darcy doesn't want to ruin her friendship with Bucky by letting on how hard she's fallen for him.  She's doing an admirable job of hiding it (from him, at least), until he takes his shirt off in the heat and starts making love to an ice-cream bar with his mouth.





	Good Humor

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt = "That wasn't very subtle."  
> [my Tumblr](https://sarahbeniel.tumblr.com)  
> 

 

 

It was unbearable. She was going to die. Like, literally stop breathing and suffocate and die. Or maybe she’d get lucky and and fall off the roof first. It’d be quicker that way. Less embarrassing. 

Why. _Why_ did she have to go and get a crush on the most unavailable guy in the whole damn Tower? The guy she was supposed to be helping— the guy who was her _friend_ … 

 

* * *

 

When Steve Rogers had first come to her, asking if she had time for a side-job, she’d been curious. What could Captain America possibly need from _her_ : a lowly personal assistant, with no special qualifications? Her typical duties required little to no skill— stocking the break room, running errands for Jane, keeping the tiny scientist caffeinated, and making sure she ate something healthy every so often. 

“I heard you’re real good with pop culture,” he’d said. 

“Oh. Says who?” 

She’d tried to play it casual, and not get lost in those beautiful eyes. Or the way his body looked in that tight… very tight… all-kinds-of way-too-tight T-shirt… 

Steve wasn’t even her type— she went for dark-haired guys— but looking at Steve in a painted-on shirt was a good reminder that she wasn’t a robot, as she’d been pretending to be for the past… God, how many months had it been since she’d gotten laid? 

Nope: not a robot. She was a woman, with certain biological needs… needs that hadn’t been fulfilled in a good long time, except from something that required batteries. 

“Thor,” he’d said, in answer to her question, totally oblivious to the way she was mapping the glorious contours of his chest with her eyes. She’d finally stopped when she realized she was doing to him what she’d been subjected to since puberty. 

“Okay, I guess that makes sense,” she’d said. “I mean, I showed him around the net and helped clue him in to some things. Why? You need a crash-course in twenty-first-century bullshit or something?” 

“Well…” He’d rubbed the back of his neck then, a little nervous, which had made _her_ nervous, because what could Captain America have to feel nervous about? 

“It’s not for me,” he’d finally admitted. “It’s for my friend. Bucky.” 

“Oh,” she’d said, while her mind took a few seconds to adjust. “ _Oh_. Um… okay? Is there anything in particular he’s interested in learning about?” 

“Well…” God, the man was adorable when he was hesitant. _Stop it, Darcy. He’s not your type. He’s not even straight_. “He, uh… he doesn’t exactly know about it yet.” 

He’d rushed to keep talking before Darcy could interrupt. “But I’m sure he’ll agree. He said his therapist wanted him to spend some more time on, you know… non-work-related stuff. He just didn’t like any of her suggestions on how to go about it.” 

“Not ready to go out clubbing, huh?” 

Steve had chuckled. “Not so much.” 

Darcy had tapped her lips with her index finger, considering. At the time, she’d known almost nothing about Steve’s mysterious friend, other than what she’d read online, or heard second-hand through other residents of the Tower. She’d only encountered him in person a handful of times, when they’d crossed paths in the break room. He’d seemed very skittish, avoiding eye contact or any other social overtures. Which was too bad, because he’d seemed really nice. As well as being a magnitude _Holy Fuck_ on the Richter scale of sex appeal… 

“Where would we do this?” she’d asked, having a hard time imagining the guy wanting to just hang out in the lounge with her, leaning over an iPad together. “And how often?” 

“I was thinking maybe a couple times a week to start with? And maybe you could come to our place— I’d be there too, just to… you know… make everyone more comfortable.” 

She’d tapped her lip for another few seconds. He’d looked nervous, like he’d been expecting her to refuse, and his face had morphed into obvious surprise when she’d finally dropped her hand and said, “Okay, I’ll do it.” And then she’d raised a finger again and said, “But _only_ if he’s cool with it.” 

And that was how Darcy had become acquainted with James Buchanan Barnes, or “Bucky”, as he’d insisted she call him, from their very first session. 

He’d been quiet and a bit standoffish at first, but over the weeks he’d gradually thawed somewhat, becoming more comfortable around her, both physically and socially. 

She’d caught Steve looking at them with almost a smirk on his face a few times— like when she’d made Bucky laugh at some bawdy comment or dorky joke, and finally they’d told him to skedaddle— that they didn’t want or need a chaperone anymore, and he’d complied with no complaint… 

Almost as though that’d been his plan all along… 

After a couple of months, as Bucky had become more comfortable, he’d started to make himself more of a presence in the common areas of the Tower, and Darcy had started to figure out that maybe that’d been the real objective— not so much a need to catch up on pop culture, as a gentle easing back into the social skills he’d once been so slick with, but had all but lost during his captivity. Which was fine— if she could help him with that, she was glad to do it. 

It was gratifying to see him start to emerge from that shell he’d held himself so tightly under, and to know that she’d had some small part in that. Of course the more comfortable he became, the more he glowed, and by the time she realized she’d caught actual feelings for him, it was way too late to stop it. 

His platonic sweetness toward her just made it worse. They’d become buddies, and she could feel how much he cared about her. As a _friend_. Which was great; she’d take it. She’d take him any way she could get him, even if it tortured her a little. 

Just last week she’d had a hormonal meltdown in the break room when she’d found that someone had eaten _all_ of the Krispy Kremes she’d run out to get that morning— even the jelly donut she’d specifically earmarked for herself. She’d been pretty embarrassed to be found weeping over a donut, but hey— hormones were a bitch. 

Bucky had been a total sweetheart, with real concern in his eyes as he’d asked her what was wrong, and he hadn’t judged her at all when she’d admitted what she was crying over. He’d just pulled her into a hug and run his hand soothingly on her back, and as she’d sniffled there in the warmth of his arms, bathed in the fresh smell of his clean but spicy body wash, and the light touch of manly sweat she could smell on his skin, she’d felt herself wanting to sink in further… to stay there, in the comfort of his strong, sexy body… 

Fuck, she was doomed. 

It got worse: the next day, when she’d entered the break room, there was a large Krispy Kreme donut box there on the counter, with a hand-written piece of paper taped to it: 

_Anyone but Dee touches a single one of these donuts they’re gonna answer to me. -J. B. Barnes_

She’d almost cried all over again. He was too sweet. Too thoughtful. Way too handsome. He was gonna kill her. 

 

* * *

 

And now, on the first _Holy-shit-it’s-hot-as-fuck_ day of summer, that time had come— he was finally going to be the death of her, and maybe it was a good thing. Someone needed to put her out of her misery, because it’d been weeks of it now— weeks of writhing around in her bedsheets, lovesick and miserable. 

Even Jane had noticed, and Jane never noticed anything outside her research— had begged her to invest in a new toy, or to go find some nice grunt to take her out… _anything_ to take the pressure off, and get her head out of the clouds. 

It was like a switch had been flipped on the inside, and she couldn’t turn it back off. And she’d been _fine_ before. Just _fine_ in her everyday, ho-hum misery and loneliness. But this? It was a whole ‘nother level of _Why Can’t Darcy have Nice Things. Like her nuclear-bomb-level beautiful hot best friend who was also a really nice guy_. 

A bunch of them had fucked off work for the afternoon, and had organized an impromptu barbecue on the roof, hauling up coolers of beer and hot dogs and snacks, and she’d been doing _so well_ , pretending to not be in the miserable state of unfulfilled arousal that she was constantly mired in now, and she'd just been in mid-swig of her beer when Bucky had gone and _taken his shirt off_ , and Holy sweet baby Jesus. She'd almost done a spit-take, she'd been so completely unprepared for what he'd been hiding underneath his clothing. 

It was too much. 

Nobody else had seemed to notice the heavens parting to let down the light, and the choirs of angels singing; Natasha and Sam just continued on their conversation as before— comparing notes about local Thai food— while Jane was literally snoring in Thor’s lap. Steve was gone, having run out to get some ice cream bars, by popular demand. 

She didn’t know why she’d expected him to be self-conscious about the arm— maybe because he’d been so guarded about the other aspects of his past, and the forces that had made him into the man he was today— but he’d just whipped off the shirt like it was no big thing, tossed it over the back of the recliner, and returned to his job manning the wienies on the grill for Steve. 

And now there he was. Bucky fucking Barnes. In all his shirtless, perfectly-muscled, dusting-of-hair-down-the-center, one-metal-armed glory, the ends of his long hair just tickling the tops of his bare shoulders. The fact that he was apparently oblivious to his extreme hotness powers— that he was so _casual_ about it— just made it more potent. 

She’d already had two beers in forty minutes, but she immediately cracked a third, to fortify herself. 

And then it got worse. 

“Check it out, Buck.” 

Steve had returned, with a brand-new cooler, which he’d filled up with an assortment of Good Humor ice-cream products: King Cones, ice-cream sandwiches, Chocolate Éclair and Strawberry Shortcake bars, the original, modestly-sized chocolate-dipped vanilla ice-cream bars, and chocolate-chip-cookie sandwiches. 

“I remember these,” Bucky breathed, as he handed off the barbecue tongs to Steve. “Fuck. Remember they used to push the carts around the neighborhood? The guys in their uniforms… tippin’ their hats at the ladies…” 

He was rummaging through the selection, and said, “You want one Dee?” 

“You know it,” she said, trying to refocus her lust on the promise of ice cream, instead of on Bucky Barnes’ unfairly gorgeous body. She was almost afraid of looking directly at him— her eyes might be seared out by the light. 

“Gimme a strawberry one— those’re my favorite.” 

“Yeah? Don’t think they had those back when… but if that’s your favorite, I’m gonna try one of those first, myself.” 

He ripped open the box of ice-cream bars and handed one over, and then plopped down onto the recliner next to her with a satisfied sigh, unwrapped his treat, and then proceeded to make sweet love to the Strawberry Shortcake with his lips and tongue, all while making slightly obscene noises of approval. 

He’d recently gone clean-shaven, maybe to feel lighter in the heat, and it just made it even more filthy, because she could see _everything_ — every flick of his tongue, every subtle movement of his firm but pliant lips as he nipped off soft little pieces of the melting treat… not like she was openly staring at him or anything… uh. Yeah. 

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding, doll,” he said, as he finally stopped to take a break, licking his lips, which were glistening. “I could eat these all day.” 

She was going to fucking die. 

She was finally saved when her own ice-cream bar— neglected, all but abandoned as she’d shamelessly stared at him, in some form of arousal-induced paralysis— melted enough so that the greater portion of it slid off and fell into her lap with a wet _plop_. Bucky missed it, having gotten up already to get another treat from the cooler, and she took the opportunity to scramble out of her chair while his back was turned. 

“I, uh… I gotta go take care of this,” she mumbled, and almost tripped over her own feet in her rush to escape, Sam and Natasha giving each other knowing looks as she fled the scene. 

“You seein’ this?” said Sam, low, his head leaning toward Natasha’s. Sam had been in D.C. for a month, so he didn’t know how bad it had gotten. 

“You kidding me?” Nat answered, just as low. “It’s like some kind of tortured foreplay, only neither of them realizes it. It’s been going on for weeks.” She was going to elaborate, but then Bucky was back, having secured another frozen treat. 

“Hey, where’d Darcy go?” he said. 

“She left in a hurry,” said Natasha, her voice assuming a tone of innocence. “Maybe you should go make sure she’s okay.” 

“Why wouldn’t she be okay?” asked Bucky. “She was all right a minute ago. She have too much to drink or something?” He frowned, looking at the collection of empty beer bottles between their two chairs. He wasn’t sure how many were his, how many hers. 

“I dunno,” said Natasha. “She seemed kind of upset.” She turned to Sam and raised an eyebrow. “She seem upset to you Sam?” 

“Uh huh,” said Sam, catching on quickly. He nodded with his lips pressed together, trying not to laugh, and then raised his eyebrows as well. “Distressed, maybe.” 

Bucky put the still-wrapped treat back into the cooler. “Shit. I’m gonna go check on her.” 

“Good idea,” said Sam, and then stifled another snicker as Bucky turned around and headed for the roof-access door, almost running into Clint in his hurry to get to it. 

As soon as the door slammed shut, Steve shook his head as he approached Natasha, brandishing the tongs. “That wasn’t very subtle, goddammit. I thought we agreed not to—” 

“I got tired of waiting,” said Natasha, cutting him off. “It wasn’t even entertaining anymore— just painful.” 

Clint took over Bucky’s empty chair as he cracked open a beer. “So what’d I miss? Those two dumbasses sort out their shit yet?” 

 

* * *

 

Darcy had maybe a two-minute lead on Bucky, but it’d been enough time to rip off her shorts, grab her bullet vibe, and settle down on her bed for some much-needed relief. It didn’t take long to get going, what with that new pornographic-caliber Bucky-meets-ice-cream imagery she now had memory-access to, and she let out a satisfied moan as she stroked herself with the smooth, vibrating toy, imagining it was Bucky’s face on her instead, doing to her body what he’d done to that ice cream… 

 

* * *

 

Bucky slowed his pace as he rounded the corner to the corridor that led to Darcy’s room. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she wasn’t feeling well, and wouldn’t appreciate his bothering her. She’d seemed fine, though. Excited about the ice cream. She loved her treats. It didn’t make any sense. He frowned again, remembering Natasha’s words: _She seemed kind of upset_. Upset about what? Had he unknowingly done something wrong? 

He should have texted her first, but he’d left his phone up on the roof like a dumbass, in his hurry to chase her down. Jesus. He was acting like some stupid kid, and he was going to fuck up one of these days— let on how he really felt, and scare away the best friend he’d managed to make since Steve had brought him back to the Tower. Darcy was such a sweetheart; she didn’t need his pathetic, lovesick ass chasing after her like some horny teenager. 

He’d been lingering outside her door for several minutes, mulling it over, when his enhanced hearing picked up a barely-stifled moan… coming from her apartment. God, maybe she really was sick… 

He knocked, gently. “Darcy? That you? You okay?” 

No answer. 

He tried again, this time a little louder. “Darcy? It’s Bucky— you all right in there? You need any help?” He tried the handle, but of course it was locked. All the doors in the Tower locked electronically. 

“Just let me know you’re okay, sweetheart. Dee?” 

Still no answer. He knocked again, more urgently this time. 

“I’m gettin’ worried now, honey— please, just let me know you’re okay.” 

Silence. Total silence. And then a weak, “ _Just gimme a second_ …” And then a loud thump… like a body, falling onto the floor. 

“ _Darcy?_ ” He rattled on the handle like an idiot, knowing it was pointless. “Darcy, honey, I’m comin’ in…” He wound up and then slammed his metal shoulder into the door as hard as he could, felt the material give… 

 

* * *

 

She’d missed the first tentative knock, but when she heard the next one, loud and clear, along with his voice asking her if she was okay, she’d completely frozen her body, the bullet vibe still pressed against her, afraid to move a muscle. 

The sound of the vibrator now seemed ridiculously loud in the quiet of the apartment, and she scrambled to quickly switch it off. She was afraid to breathe. Oh God. Had he _heard_ her? She knew he had somewhat enhanced hearing, but surely it couldn’t be _that_ good… 

She could hear his voice again, on the other side of the front door. “ _Just let me know you’re okay, sweetheart_.” 

Oh, God. He’d never called her that before: _sweetheart_. She wanted to savor the moment, but she was too paralyzed. She wanted to say something. To reassure him, so that he would leave— so she could finish what she’d started, and then change clothes, rejoin the group on the roof, act like everything was normal… 

But she was still frozen for some reason. He just had that effect on her. Jesus, she was so attracted to him, that he was giving her a fight-or-flight response. The situation was getting out of hand. Maybe she needed to back off, for her own sanity— pull away from the friendship a little. Take some time. But fuck, she didn’t want to. She wanted _more_ time with him. All the time. 

“ _I’m gettin’ worried now, honey— please, just let me know you’re okay_.” 

Fuck. Okay. “Just gimme a second,” she called out weakly, and then she rolled over, trying to reach for the little packet of toy-wipes in her nightstand, trying to be as quiet as possible, trying not to let the mattress squeak, but the wipes were pushed all the way to the back of the drawer, and she was almost there when she rolled too far over the edge of the mattress and suddenly went over, landing on the floor with a loud _thump_. 

She could hear him rattling the door handle urgently then, calling her name, and then he was _breaking down the door_ and she had a split-second to shriek and grab at the edge of the duvet, pulling it down onto the floor with her, covering her naked lower body just in the nick of time, because he was in her room a second later, a look of panic on his face, his bare chest heaving as he scanned the room for her, and then he saw her there on the floor and stopped, crouched down by her feet. 

“Dee? You okay honey? What happened? Sweetheart, did you faint?” 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her hands curling protectively into the duvet, and he pulled back a little, stood back up, looking a bit uncomfortable as he realized she was probably fine, and that he’d not only invaded her personal space, but had also broken down her door… 

“I uh… Natasha, she said… I mean, Sam…” He turned to the side then, rubbing his forehead. “Aw, shit. Those assholes.” 

“What? Wait, what did they say?” It was a little weird, talking to him from the floor, like it was perfectly normal, but there wasn’t a lot she could do. She wondered if he’d noticed her shorts and underpants discarded on the floor. 

“I’ll just, uh… _shit_ … I’m sorry doll, I broke your door…. I should just…” 

“Bucky, what’d they say? Why’d you bust in here like that?” 

“They said you were… upset. That I should check on you. N’then I heard— I mean, I thought I heard… sounded like you were… hurt.” He’d put his hand down, angling his eyes to look back at her again. 

“Oh god,” she said, and covered her face with her hands. There was nothing else to say. 

“You sure you’re okay?” he said. “You need help gettin’ to the bathroom or anything? You want me to get you some water?” 

Oh. _Oh_. Huh. Okay. He thought she was _wasted_. All was not lost. Of course, that meant he thought she’d gotten electively drunk enough to be moaning and falling off her own bed at 2 o’clock in the afternoon and apparently didn’t judge her for that, and she had no idea if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but in the meantime, it was a preferable option to his realizing that she’d been driven to self-pleasure after watching him give an ice-cream bar an orgasm… 

“Um, some water would be great, thanks,” she said, but she kept her hands over her face, still unable to meet his eye. 

“Here, let me help you up.” 

She peeked through her fingers, and saw that he was coming closer, leaning down to help her up and _oh God_. 

“Don’t come any closer!” She blurted it out before she could think twice. 

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong,” he said, retracting his hand, and he sounded so sad. “Did I do something?” He sighed. “Please, just tell me what I did.” 

“I can’t,” she said, a resigned sound in her voice. Fuck, she was really going to do it. She was going to tell him. Tell him how she felt about him. 

“What do you mean? Why can’t you tell me—” 

“I mean, I can’t get up.” 

“What— sweetheart are you sure you’re okay? Are you—” 

“I don’t have any pants on.” There. She’d said it. Well, some of it, at least. 

“Why don’t— Should I leave?” 

God, the poor guy looked so confused. He still thought he’d done something wrong, and she could see him beating himself up for it, without even knowing what it was yet, and that’s what finally broke her resolve. 

“God, I—” She breathed out, pressed her hands more firmly against her face, like maybe she could just fuse them in place and never have to look at him again, not after she told him what she was about to tell him. 

“Fuck it; I can’t stand it anymore,” she finally said. “I like you, okay? _I like you_. A lot. And you were just standing there all shirtless and beautiful and then the ice cream and I had to, and oh _fuck_ , just kill me.” 

It’d come out all in a rush, and it was a mess, but she was pretty sure he’d heard all of it, and he sat down heavily on the end of the bed, his bare back to her. She was peeking again, and with him facing away, there was no way to tell what was going through his mind. Horror? Embarrassment? Regret? That was probably it— regret, that he’d let her in, become her friend, and then she’d gone and caught feelings for him, ruined it… 

“Say something,” she said, after a painful ten seconds of silence. “Bucky, _please_ say something before I just crawl under the bed entirely and die, okay? Even if it’s to say that you’re leaving and never coming back, because I can’t take it anymore.” 

He turned then, crawled his way up the bed so that he was lying face-down on it, his head hanging over the side so that he could see her, down in the ditch between the bed and the wall. His long hair was hanging down on either side of his face, shadowing his expression. 

“Why would I leave?” he said, and his voice was soft now. 

“I dunno, because I just wrecked everything?” 

She was still just peeking at him, through the cracks in her fingers. She couldn’t bear to let him see her face. 

He’d shut his eyes, and then he said, “You didn’t wreck nothin’. Wish you’d said somethin’ sooner.” 

Why? Had he found someone else? Oh _God_. That was it, wasn’t it. She’d somehow missed her window— failed to see it, and now he’d found someone else… now that she’d greased the wheels, helped him break out of his isolation… 

She felt sick, thinking about it. Imagined trying to play it cool as he brought some other woman around, maybe someone from the strike team… someone better suited for him. Held hands with some gorgeous, tall, athletically-gifted beauty, _kissed_ her while she watched, alone, from the other side of the room, eating donuts… watched a tangle of skin-tight shirts and tac pants, like some kind of gorgeous, erotic sculpture of two beautifully-made bodies that were meant for each other… and she’d helped make it happen. The thought of it made her want to puke. 

He’d opened his eyes again, and he was still looking down at her, from atop the edge of the bed. “Sweetheart, c’mere. Come on. Get up off the floor.” 

“Can’t,” she said. “I’m paralyzed. I’m never moving again. This is it. From now on, this is my new home. Here on the floor. You’ll have to find someone to bring me my meals here.” 

He chuckled at her, and if she’d been paying closer attention, she would have noticed the fond look on his face. 

“Okay, then I’m comin’ to you,” he said, and she could hear him sliding his way back off the end of the bed, and then he was on the floor, by her feet, and then crawling up the left side of her body, trying to press the bulk of himself between her and the wall, in the limited space available, sliding himself sideways to fit. She could smell him— the slight sheen of sweat on his bare chest, the light underlayer of that spicy body wash. She wanted to bury her nose between his pecs and inhale him. She wanted to lick him. 

She was still hiding behind her hands, and she felt him put his flesh hand on her forearm, and it burned— the feeling spreading from the point of contact to wash all over her. He’d touched her before, linked hands even, as she’d tugged him from a room, but it was different now— now that she’d come clean, it felt like everything. Like fire, licking through her body, making her heart pound. 

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he said. 

“Can’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“M’too embarrassed,” she said. 

“Embarrassed for likin’ me?” he asked. “That such an awful thing?” 

She could hear the humor in his voice, and he pressed on. “Just wish you’d told me sooner… woulda saved us both a whole lotta—” 

“What,” she said, interrupting him. “Hassle? All this wasted time because now we can’t be friends anymore?” 

He was peeling her fingers away from her face, one by one, and he may as well have been peeling the rest of her clothing off for how vulnerable it made her feel, but when he’d finally gotten both of her hands away and had a gentle grasp of them in his hand, all she could see was concern in his pretty blue eyes. 

“Who said anything about not bein’ friends?” 

She just blinked back at him, not knowing what to say. His face was so close— closer than she’d ever been to it, and she could see all the little details she’d only glimpsed from afar before— the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the perfect cupid’s bow curves of his upper lip, the deep blue ring around the paler blue of his eyes… 

“I been sick about you for weeks,” he said, and she could see his eyes moving over her face now, just as hers must be doing to his… “Drivin’ Stevie crazy… you know how many times he yelled at me to just go tell you? 

_Wait, what?_

“Tell me what?” she whispered, like an idiot. 

“That I’m crazy about you, Dee.” 

She almost couldn’t breathe. A piece of hair had fallen in front of his face and she dared to reach up, move it out of the way with her finger, and she could see his lips part, as he inhaled from the touch, almost like he was feeling it too— the same new feeling… the burn… 

“You are?” She was afraid to say too many words, to speak too loudly. Everything felt fragile… like the perfectly smooth surface on a lake— vulnerable to the slightest breeze, the gentlest ripple… 

“Why d’you think m’always all tangled up in knots whenever you walk into the room?” 

“I dunno,” she said, and now she was gently running her fingers through his hair, and how had that happened? He seemed okay with it, though. It was softer than she’d imagined, and he closed his eyes as she continued to card through it with her fingers. 

“I thought maybe you were just… nervous,” she said quietly. “I mean, in general.” 

“I am nervous,” he said, opening his eyes, and then he licked his lips. “In general.” 

“Are you nervous right now?” 

They were both speaking so softly, that it was almost like they’d created a new language— one only they could hear, in that private space together, between them, intimate. 

“A little,” he said, and he was glancing at her lips. “Are you?” 

“Maybe a little,” she said, and she smiled, fleetingly, and then her face relaxed, her lips parting as his face descended, his metal thumb feathering across her cheek just before he took her top lip between both of his. 

She tipped up a little to meet him, and it was so soft and quiet, like they were both afraid to breathe— until they did, both of them exhaling as he pulled back just enough to look at her. And then he kissed her again, and this time it was longer, their breathing louder, and she was trying to believe it—that this was happening: Bucky was kissing her, and he wanted this too, and her brain was still trying to catch up, her hands moving again to his hair, and down to the smooth skin of his back, and _God_ , she was really touching him, that delicious shirtless beauty she’d been ogling earlier, and she couldn’t help it— she broke away to breathe again, to blurt it out: 

“Holy shit…” 

“Yeah,” he said, and he smiled at her, and she wasn’t embarrassed about anything anymore— just filled with a flood of lust, of wanting everything from him… wanting it all— right now, no more waiting… 

“ _I want you_ …” She couldn’t keep it in, couldn’t lie by not saying it out loud anymore… 

“God, I want you too, Dee… C’mere…” 

He bent down to kiss her again, their breath picking up, sinking into it further, his hand holding her face, and then she felt the metal one skim down her side, feeling her shape through her thin T-shirt, and he plucked at the bottom hem, and he moved back a little as she sat up, pulling it off, and then he dipped back down to kiss her breasts, feeling them with his hands, stroking them through the lace of her black bra, and she could feel herself getting wet… 

“Get these off,” she whispered, trying to push down on the waistband of his athletic shorts, and he didn’t argue, breaking another kiss to push them down and off his legs, taking the underwear with them, just as she shoved the duvet aside, moving her body on top of it, revealing her lower half to him, and he raked his eyes down her body— her navel, her bare thighs, the tidy little triangle of dark hair… 

“ _Fuck_ …” He was pulling on his own body, moving his hand up and down his shaft a couple times as he slipped between her legs, and she was spreading out for him, ready to let him in, and then he stopped and said, “Wait— don’t I gotta…” 

“I’m on SHIELD-grade birth control,” she said, hoping that cleared things up. “Now get in here, handsome.” 

He gave her a dopey smile, and she was gonna _die_ , seriously— just die— because she was about to have sex with Bucky… it was a fucking dream; it _had_ to be… 

“Hey, uh…” 

She was pulling on his strong body, using all of her limbs to try to get him closer, bring her into him, like some kind of space-alien needing to absorb him. 

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he was saying, and she could feel the tip of him brushing right against her entrance, “so it might—” 

“Bucky,” she said, cutting him off, “Shut the fuck up and get in me.” 

“Yes ma’am,” he said, grinning, and he kissed her one more time, so gently, and then he pushed in, almost all the way on the first thrust, exhaling raggedly, and she gasped at the stretch, and _fuck_ , he felt good… 

“Oh my God…” She was whispering, her jaw opening in a breathy smile… 

She had to say it again as he pulled back halfway, and then pressed back in all the way, dipping down to kiss her again as his body pushed flush against her: “ _Oh my God_ …” 

_Was this really happening? Was Bucky really screwing her? Right now? On her bedroom floor?_

“ _God_ …” He was moaning now too, and it was the most delicious sound, the perfect soundtrack to the feeling of his body dragging back and forth against her walls, the roll of his hips against her, punctuated by his tender little kisses. “Fuck… Dee… _fuck_ , you feel so good…” 

He’d found a lazy rhythm, making it last, and they were both smiling like a couple of fools most of the way through it, and at one point she actually started to laugh as she held him and gasped— not because it was funny, but because she just felt so fucking happy… 

 

* * *

 

They were still on the floor, wedged up against the wall, the duvet mostly under them now as she rested in his arms, both of them sweaty and flushed and sticky. 

She didn’t want to wreck the moment, but she really needed to know. 

“So… was this… I mean… was this like a ‘get it out of your system’, one-time thing? Or…” 

“God, I hope not,” he said, and he sounded so damn sincere that she couldn’t help squeezing him a little, like maybe if she hung on tightly enough, she could keep him forever. 

He smiled then and tilted his head down a little to look at her, where her face lay resting against his chest. “But can we do it on the bed next time?” 

 

* * *

 

‘Next time’ turned out to be fourteen minutes later, and they managed to move up to the bed for it. 

Afterward, as she again lay in his arms, she said, “You know they’re all up there laughing at us, right? Like, there’s not the slightest fucking chance that we’re gonna live this down.” 

He made a scoffing sound. “Like I give a fuck. They can all go fuck themselves. Assholes think they’re so fuckin’ clever.” 

“Well…” she allowed, “We wouldn’t be where we are now, if they hadn’t interfered a little, so I guess we can’t _totally_ hate them… I mean, if that’s the only joy they have in their miserable, lonely lives— to fuck with us— while we get to have _this_ …” 

His hand was stroking up and down her sweaty back, and he almost told her he loved her then, but she spoke up again before he could get it out. 

“God, I want another one of those Good Humor bars, though. I dropped mine in my lap— that’s why I left. I mean, that’s _part_ of why…” She trailed off, laughing gently against his chest. “You realize I was down here trying to get myself off, right? When you busted in?” 

“Yeah,” he said, still stroking her back. “I sort of figured that out. When I saw that you didn’t have nothin’ on down below, under that duvet… God, Dee. Talk about a fuckin’ turn-on…” 

She grinned, loving that what had felt like a mortal embarrassment had turned into something that got his rocks off. 

“You hungry?” he asked. “We sorta wound up missin’ the food.” 

I don’t wanna go back up there,” she said, pouting a little. “Just to have those smug motherfuckers looking at us like they think they’re so smart… Let’s just stay here, okay?” 

 

* * *

 

They all heard the roof door slam, and Bucky came stomping over. He was covered in sweat, and his hair was all messed up, and he’d put on his shorts backwards. It was like he wasn’t even trying to hide it. 

“Hey, you find her?” asked Sam, with obvious put-on nonchalance, and Bucky could practically feel the vibrations of the barely-suppressed titters coming from the rest of them. 

Except for Thor, whose smile was genuine— lacking any trace of sport— and who said, “Is it true, friend Barnes? Have the two of you at long last shared the truth of your hearts?” 

“That ain’t all they shared,” said Barton, elbowing Sam, and that did it— the rest of them snickered and whooped and fist-bumped and Bucky just rolled his eyes as he picked up the entire ice-cream cooler. 

“Fuck off, the lotta ya,” he said, refusing to look any of them in the eye, except for Thor, to whom he nodded and said, “Yeah. We did.” and then he stomped back off to the door again, carrying the cooler in front of him. 

 

* * *

 

He took the time to prop her broken front door back up against the ripped and ragged jamb, and then picked up the cooler again and carried it straight into the bedroom, plunking it down at the foot of the bed. 

“Here you go, princess.” 

He pulled out one of the Strawberry Shortcake bars, unwrapping it for her, and handed it to her so that she could eat it while she was still naked in bed, like a proper glutton. 

“Mmm,” she said, after the first delicious bite. “My hero… now get those shorts off and get back in here with me.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

They shared the ice cream, passing it back and forth, taking turns making love to it, and then to each other, tasting the flavor on each other’s lips and tongue, sweet and sticky, and as he fit his body back between her legs again, she sighed out the happiest sigh in a good long time and said, “God, I love summer.” 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [](https://imgur.com/phStrcl)   
> 


End file.
